


The Wedding Night

by masulevin



Series: Ophelia Cousland, Queen of Ferelden [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face-Sitting, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Wedding Night, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 18:52:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12941529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masulevin/pseuds/masulevin
Summary: Alistair and Ophelia Cousland are finally married, but now he has to face the first challenge of being a husband: the wedding night.





	The Wedding Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is told from Alistair's POV. Ophelia Cousland isn't the Warden in this story -- that honor goes to Sophie Amell, who's in Amaranthine with Nathaniel during this time. Sophie and Alistair were together during the Blight, but he broke up with her to be king. You know how he is.
> 
> Ophelia and Alistair are in an arranged marriage now, but they do care for each other. [Find out more about her on my tumblr](http://ma-sulevin.tumblr.com/tagged/ophelia-cousland/).

Alistair sits in one of the deep armchairs by the fireplace in his room, his elbows on his knees, his head low between his shoulders, and an almost-empty cup of wine in his hands. He stares into the flames, watching them leap and crackle, but he can’t seem to focus.

He can’t focus because he’s just gotten married, and his wife is in her dressing room getting ready to join him in their bed chamber.

Though she has offered to join him in the months that made up their courtship – eagerly volunteered, in fact, between sneaky, hidden kisses that made his blood boil and his ears burn – he’s put her off until now. It never seemed right, or proper, before.

Somehow.

He frowns and finishes his wine in one deep swallow, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

He’s  _married_ now. He’s someone’s  _husband_.

He puts his wine glass down and stares at his wedding ring instead, glinting in the light of the fire. He twists it around with the fingers of his right hand, silently begging it to help him.

The ring, of course, doesn’t answer.

The door from Ophelia’s dressing room clicks when she unlatches it, then glides open on silent hinges. He jumps up and spins around to face her, then has to sit back down when he sees what she’s chosen to wear for their first night together as man and wife.

She definitely isn’t wearing underclothes from Ferelden. It’s too… flimsy? That isn’t quite the word for it, but there aren’t a lot of words in his mind right now, not when she’s walking across the room to meet him in front of the fire, her hips swaying with each step, lace and sheer fabric clinging to curves and… breasts that he hadn’t realized were  _quite_ so full.

She giggles and he snaps his eyes back up to meet her gaze, face turning what feels like an unhealthy shade of red. When she’s this close to him, he has to crane his head to look up at her, and he blushes even harder when she reaches out with slender fingers to gently push his jaw closed.

He clears his throat and curls his hands into fists in his lap, eyes dancing away and not sure where to look.

She notices though. Of course she does.

She runs her fingers into his hair and hold him gently, thumbs rubbing little circles over his temples until he closes his eyes and his shoulders relax.

“What’s wrong?” Her voice is soft, just like her touch, but it still takes him a minute to work up the courage to find something – anything – to say in response.

He turns his head to the side to kiss her palm, but he doesn’t open his eyes when he says, “It’s, uh… it’s been a long time.”

Her fingers don’t stop moving and he doesn’t hear her laugh, but the smile is evident in her voice when she says, “I thought that might be the case. It’s been so long you can’t even look at me?”

He clears his throat again and opens his eyes. It’s brighter now that he’s used to the darkness behind his eyelids, and it looks like her face is glowing in the firelight. Her hair is down, like he likes it, mostly flowing down her back. One lock rests over her shoulder, and he  grasps the end of it to curl around his fingers as he says, “You look… Maker, Lia, I can’t even describe how beautiful you are.”

Is his voice really so breathy? He glances up at Ophelia’s face in time to see her pale cheeks darkening with a lovely blush. He tugs on the hair in his hand, gently, and she tilts her head to the side in response, smiling at him. Her eyes look soft, and suddenly he can’t find his words.

“How long has it been?”

Her voice is so gentle, he doesn’t hesitate before telling her the truth even as he lets his eyes drift shut again, her fingers still massaging his scalp. It’s… relaxing. “Since just after the Blight ended.”

She hums a little. “Three years?”

His throat is dry. He needs more wine. “Yes.”

Her hands disappear and there’s movement in front of him that makes him open his eyes to see what’s going on. She’s taken a step back and is leaning down so that their faces are level, her hands grasping the arms on the chair on either side of him. He’s boxed in, here; he’d have to move her if he wanted to stand. It makes his throat and trousers tighten even more than they already are.

She brushes their noses together, but doesn’t move to kiss him. “We don’t  _have_ to do anything, of course,” she says first, carefully looking him in the eyes, waiting until he nods his understanding that she’s serious before she continues. “But, I would like to do something for  _you_ , at least.”

She glances down at the way his trousers are starting to tent, and he shifts in the chair to try and hide his arousal. She leans back a little to give him room, shifting too so he would be able to quickly stand if that’s what he wanted… but it isn’t.

Farther apart, he’s able to see the way her breasts are swaying before him, barely contained by whatever gauzy fabric is supposed to be holding them. He licks his lips and she arches an eyebrow at him, waiting patiently.

She’s always so patient with him.

“What… ah, what did you have in mind?” His voice is hoarse and he swallows hard again. He  _really_ needs something to drink, but that thought escapes him entirely because suddenly Ophelia is kneeling between his legs, hands still on the arms of his chair, lips slightly parted. “…oh,” he murmurs, and  _Maker_ , now he’s completely hard, unable to hide it from her even if he wanted to, his fingers digging into his thighs until it’s almost painful.

“Is this okay?” she asks, moving to take his hands and place them on the arms of the chair instead. She rubs them until they’re open and just resting on the wood, and he finds himself nodding at her.

“Yes, um, yes please.” She grins at him, showing her teeth, and he swallows hard again. “Can I… can I kiss you?”

She nods permission and leans forward, brushing her lips across his in a tease that makes him bite back a whine. Her grin only grows, and she leans forward to kiss him again, more firmly but still not long enough.

“Lia,  _please_ ,” he tries, and this time she takes his jaw in both of her hands and gives him a  _real_ kiss, pressing her tongue into his mouth to rub against his before nipping at his lower lip. He groans against her, helpless, grip tightening on the chair, somehow convinced that if he moves from where she placed him that she’ll stop.

She stops anyway, but only to kiss the line of his jaw, nuzzling against the scratchy stubble growing there. He’s always wanted a thicker beard, but the hair still grows in too patchy to look good. She doesn’t seem to mind though, and he doesn’t either right now, not when she pauses to bite at the place where his jaw meets his neck, nipping him hard enough to make his hips jerk fruitlessly toward her.

He can feel her lips curving against his skin, and then she moves again, now down to his collar bone, then to the hollow of his throat, nosing against the collar of his shirt to suck a bruise into his skin.

Then she sits back on her heels, smiling at him when he forces his eyes open, and slides her hands up his thighs to the laces of his trousers. He leans back, holding his breath, eyes fixated on the way the tip of her tongue sticks out from between her lips as she works at the knot.

“Lift up a bit,” she says, and it sounds more like an order than a request. He lifts his hips up without a moment of hesitation, heart fluttering wildly in his chest as she pulls his trousers and smalls down as one until they pool around his feet. Then, she grins at him again, the toothy smile that makes him stop breathing.

“That will do nicely,” she says, and then leans forward to take the tip of him into her mouth.

Distantly, Alistair realizes the sound he makes isn’t that far off of the one that says he’s been struck in the stomach. He can’t bring himself to care, though, not with the way her tongue is tracing the head of his cock and her eyes are fluttering closed.

He wants to bury his fingers in her hair to pull her closer, but he can’t bring himself to move his hands from where she so carefully placed them. Instead, he digs his fingernails into the chair and bends over her, huffing out a breath, moving his knees farther apart and hoping she’ll understand what he wants.

She glances up at him, somehow looking smug even with his cock in her mouth, and begins to move. Her hands join her mouth in exploring him, one grasping the base of his cock while the other dips lower, squeezing his sac with a gentle pressure that makes his head spin.

Her head dips lower, shallow motions that do as much to tease him as they do to ease more of his length into her mouth. Her tongue never stops its gentle ministrations, pushing him to the edge too fast,  _much_ too fast, he needs to warn her, she needs to stop –

“Lia, Lia, please,” he tries, voice sounding too high to his ears. She peers up at him but doesn’t slow her careful movements, and the sight of her lips stretched around him nearly undoes him. His toes curl into the carpet, his nails scratch painfully at the chair, and he ties again. “I’m going to–Lia,  _Lia_ , I need to– _Lia_!”

She takes pity on him, pulling away just as he’s about to spill. His whole body twitches and he feels a bead of sweat roll down his temple. “Do you need to come?” His whole body twitches again when she says the word, and she bites the inside of her lip to control her smile at his fast nod.

“It’s been a long time,” he says, defensive, gazing down at where her hands are still wrapped around him, now holding him back from the edge rather than getting ready to shove him off of it. “I told you–”

“That’s why I’m doing this,” she offers. “You’ll last longer the second time.”

 _The second time?_  His whole face is red. His whole body  _must_ be blushing. Another bead of sweat rolls down his neck.

“O–okay,” he stammers, and Ophelia’s face lights up again.

“Are you ready?”

“Please.”

She leans in and presses a soft kiss to the tip of his cock, enough to make it twitch in her hand. “Are you sure?”

“ _Maker_ , Lia, please,  _please_ let me, I need you– _oh, sweet Maker_.”

She swallows him down, wrapping her lips around him and sucking somehow, the pressure increasing even when he can feel her chuckle against his hot skin. She takes enough into her mouth that he thinks he can feel himself hitting the back of her throat, but she doesn’t gag, just gazes up at him with wide blue eyes sparkling mischievously in the firelight.

“Lia!” He has time to say her name once more before he comes with a hoarse cry, his body bending over hers as though to keep her close. She eases him through it, carefully catching his spend on her tongue until he has no more left to give her.

Only when he’s finished does she pull away, wiping at her lips with a finger as she swallows. Just the sight of her throat bobbing makes Alistair feel faint again, and he reaches down to haul her into his lap, earlier embarrassment forgotten in the swell of emotions that wash over him.

He nuzzles into her neck and she wraps her arms around his shoulders to hold him close, laughing gently. She cards her fingers through his hair until he finds his words, calming him just as easily as she had wound him up just moments ago.

As his breathing returns to normal and his heart takes up its usual position in his chest, he starts to press kisses against the smooth skin of her neck, up to her ear, along her jaw, listening to the little hitches in her breath that tell him he’s doing something right for once.

When his lips make it back to her ear, he whispers, “Can I do that to you, now?”

She tilts her head to the side to allow him room to scrape his teeth along her earlobe, and then she shivers. “Can you do what to me?” Alistair hesitates, lips freezing, and she continues: “If you can say it, you can do it to me. Anything you want, Alistair.”

And if  _that_ doesn’t make his mind start to spin in a thousand different directions, all utterly inappropriate and disrespectful and certainly  _not_ things you should do to a lady, and…

Ophelia’s fingers bury themselves in his hair at the back of his head and pull and oh maybe he should remember that for later. It does remind him that he’s supposed to be asking for what he wants right now though, soe he forces himself to speak even as his cheeks turn even redder.

“I would like to… to taste you,” he says finally, running the fingers of one hand up the inside of her soft thigh. She spreads her legs just a bit, letting his fingers roam higher until they’re brushing against the thin white panties she’s wearing under the gauzy top. They’re soaked through, and she shudders as he presses his knuckle against her. “I want to make you come, too.” He hesitates, then adds, “Please,” before kissing her neck again.

“To the bed, then,” she says, and then giggles when he stands up with her still in his arms. She clutches tighter at him, fingernails scraping against his skin in a way that makes a pleasant shudder run down his spine, and he carefully steps out of his trousers to walk across the room to the large bed that they’re supposed to share.

He sets her down on the sheets and then crawls up next to her, stretching out on his back before reaching for her hips. He knows the instant she figures out what he wants, because her eyes light up and she moves to help him.

She straddles his shoulders, one knee pressing into the mattress on either side of his head. He gazes up at her from between her thighs and inhales deeply, letting the scent of her arousal wash over him. She bites her lower lip, watching with eyes starting to go glassy, then grabs for the tall headboard when he reaches up to pull her smalls out of the way.

It’s been years since he’s done this, but… the taste of her bursts tart against his tongue, and he moans against her. She’s soaked, nearly dripping, and he nuzzles into her even as she starts to grind down against his mouth.

He has half a mind to tease her, but she was  _so_ good to him that he can’t bring himself to disobey what she so clearly wants, not this time. He presses his tongue deep into her cunt, squeezing his eyes closed to focus, listening to her panting breaths. He tries licking into her, then making wide shallow motions, feeling the way his lips and chin and cheeks are suddenly coated with her juices.

Her moans are quiet until he noses against her clit, then follows up the discovery by wrapping his lips around the little bundle of nerves to suck on it. He opens his eyes again to look up at her, watching as she leans her head back and arches her back, grinding down with more force against his face.

Tentatively, shifting to lap at her clit with tongue wide, he reaches down and cups his cock with one hand. He strokes at it, gently, enough so that it fully hardens again but not enough to truly relieve any of the growing pressure.

Instead, he focuses on watching his  _wife_ above him, shamelessly chasing her pleasure with one hand still on the headboard and the other on her breast, kneading the supple flesh, then pinching her nipple until it stands out, dark and proud, under her top. Then, her hands switch, paying the same desperate attention to her other breast as her hips take on a desperate grind.

Under her, Alistair can barely breathe, but he doesn’t mind. If this is how the Maker decides to take him, he’ll be honored to die with his face buried in his wife’s cunt, watching as she starts to fall apart.

It takes a few more minutes, but she finally hurtles over the edge with Alistair’s tongue curled around her clit and both her hands pinching at her breasts. She collapses forward, hands pressing into the mattress as she shudders, weak, and tries to lift herself away from Alistair’s mouth.

He doesn’t let up until she suddenly springs up again, shifting back and putting her hand lightly on his throat to still him.

He freezes, tilting his head back, as she grins down at him. It’s a wicked look, one full of promise, but she releases him and scoots farther back until her ass is against his cock and he has to shift his arms to rest his hands on her waist.

She leans over him and brushes her nose against his. “Everything okay down there?” she asks, voice barely a whisper.

He grins back. “Everything’s  _perfect_ ,” he answers. “You’re perfect.”

She clicks her tongue at him but closes the distance to kiss him anyway. She still tastes like his spend, and hers is all over his cheeks and chin, turning their kiss wet and sloppy after just a few moments. She grinds lazily against him, smiling as he thrusts up to meet her.

When she breaks the kiss, she only pulls away enough to rest their foreheads together. He squeezes her hips, softly, and drags in a shuddering breath as she murmurs, “Still okay?”

He nods, a tiny motion, just enough for her to notice, and he’s rewarded by another purposeful shift of her hips.

The tip of his cock brushes against her entrance, catching briefly before slipping out again. He shudders with his whole body, tightening his grip on her for a minute, and only opens his eyes again when he hears her tiny giggle.

“Are you ready?” she asks, kissing him at the end of the question like a punctuation.

“Please,” he breathes. “I want to feel you.”

She nods, once, and then sits up. She reaches between them, taking his cock in one hand and moving her smalls out of the way with the other. He runs his hands up her sides to her breasts, finally taking them after the way they’ve been teasing him all evening, and he’s rewarded with a breathy moan before she finally sinks onto him.

He can’t breathe. This feels better than he remembered, better than he  _imagined_ , maybe because it’s Ophelia and his  _wife_ and maybe they’re meant to be together, designed for each other, maybe…

She rolls her hips again, settling herself around him, and sighs deeply. She leans forward to kiss him again, then just rests her forehead against his as he wraps his arms around her back, holding her closer as she begins to roll her hips.

Each time he’s fully inside of her, she catches her breath and he whines deep in his throat. He bends his knees, presses his heels into the bed, and meets her movements with slow rolls of his own hips that make her whine too when he hits her just right.

“Does… that feel good?” he asks, pausing once as he fills her and he gets lost in the sensation of her walls clenching around him.

She nods, then finds her voice after a particularly hard thrust. “Yes. Yes, don’t stop.”

It sounds like an order again, so he nods and obeys, pushing into her a little harder because it seems like that’s what she likes.

“Can you… again?” he asks, biting at the inside of his lip against his second orgasm of the evening.

“Can I what?” she murmurs, turning her head to nuzzle at the sensitive shell of his ear. His fingers dig hard into her back as he shivers, and she moans against him.

“Are you close?” he asks, the same question put a different way. “I want to feel it.”

She nods and moves harder against him, moans growing louder each time, her cunt tightening around him, until the wave finally breaks over her and drags him along with her.

She grinds down against him as she presses her wail into the mattress, muffling her cry. Alistair’s flies into the empty air above their bed, echoing around the large chamber, loud enough that anyone near enough to their door would be able to hear him. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t even think about it as his seed fills her, leaving him shaking and sweating and breathless.

She collapses on top of him, his cock still buried deep inside of her, and he wraps his arms around her completely to hold her against him in a hug. He nuzzles into her dark hair, enjoying the way it feels against his face until his softening cock slips free of her and her irritated grunt makes him start to laugh.

“You made a mess,” she says, finally, propping herself up on one elbow to look down at him.

He cups her face with one hand, thumb tracing over the faint freckles on her cheekbone. “That was wonderful.”

She grins back at him and covers his hand with hers. “That was quite the performance, your majesty, especially given your worries.” She pauses, biting at her lip, eyes narrowing. “You’re happy?”

He pauses to consider, then answers with utter honesty: “I’ve never been happier.”


End file.
